


When the Dust Settles

by Qille



Series: Kings and Queens [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-29
Updated: 2018-06-29
Packaged: 2019-05-30 08:23:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15092912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Qille/pseuds/Qille
Summary: After a long night planning a heist, Roadhog and Sombra have a chat about the past while Junkrat disposes of an unwanted guest.





	When the Dust Settles

The night was young and the full moon shone brightly on a small bar called Calaveras. The people inside the bar were loudly and happily chatting about the festival that would take place the next day. Everybody was laughing, dancing, drinking, and having a good time.

All except the small group huddled at a table that was wedged into the back corner of the bar. The three sitting at the table had something more sinister in mind. 

“So...” said Sombra as she sat back in her chair, having just finished a recap of her plans, “once the riots start, that should give you two plenty of cover to escape.”

The two men sitting opposite from her at the tiny table – who were both too large for the small seats they were wedged into – considered her. They sat at the small table in the corner at Sombra's request; she was a regular in the bar and didn't want to be noticed, and she also preferred everybody to be sitting, because she didn't like the way the two Junkers loomed over her when they stood.

“Well, that seems like a fine plan,” said Junkrat airily. “They all seem fine until they blow up in your face.”

Sombra chuckled easily, even though she was put off by these two. Not only were they much taller than her, but Junkrat's orange eyes seemed to glow in the dark, and Roadhog's imposing silence was deafening.

“Oh, boys, have a bit of trust,” laughed Sombra. “I'm very good at my job, as the people who hired me know. The riots are inevitable, and once they start, the authorities will have their hands full. I doubt they'll even know you were there.”

Roadhog and Junkrat glanced at each other.

“The big lug makes a good point,” said Junkrat, turning back to Sombra and fixing her with an intense stare. “Why exactly are you so eager to help us?”

Sombra focused on his nose when she answered so she wouldn't have to look into his flaming eyes. “I'm not exactly here to help you,” she said. “I'm here to make sure that _your_ plan doesn't interfere with _our_ plan.”

Junkrat sat back and yawned loudly. He eyed the drink on the table in front of him suspiciously before picking it up and draining it in one gulp. 

“Look,” said Junkrat, slapping the glass back down on the table, “we know how this works. You show up out of the blue all friendly and like, offering to help, then next thing we know you're wantin' favors or payment or something. And if you think we don't know you're after something else, then you must think we were born yesterday.”

Sombra stared at him for a moment. “That was a lot of double negatives, I'm not sure I-”

Junkrat leaned forward across the table, so that he was inches away. Sombra blinked a bit, thinking that looking into his eyes for too long was like staring directly at a fire. 

“You told us about your plan without naming a price,” growled Junkrat, his voice just above a whisper. “You want something from us, but it ain't cash.”

Sombra reached a finger up and booped him on the nose, causing him to jump back as if he had been electrocuted. Roadhog gave a low chuckle.

“You have no sense of personal space, do you?” asked Sombra.

“He doesn't,” said Roadhog. Sombra laughed, and Junkrat looked flustered.

“So what _do_ you want from us?” asked Junkrat, leaning back and crossing his arms.

Sombra hesitated for a moment before realizing that telling them would probably make things easier. Just as she opened her mouth, however, the door to Calaveras swung open and a tall man in a cowboy hat entered. Normally this wouldn't have been noticed as the attire was so common, but a glint caught Sombra's eye. She saw that the cowboy had a very distinct metal arm.

With a small gasp, Sombra bent down and hid her face.

“Don't look!” she exclaimed in a frantic whisper.

Junkrat and Roadhog immediately turned to look. 

“Who're we lookin' for?” asked Junkrat.

“The man at the bar with the metal arm,” growled Sombra.

Junkrat snorted. “Yeah, that's a pretty funny hat,” he said, looking back at Sombra. “Why does he matter?”

“He's with Overwatch!” exclaimed Sombra. “We didn't plan for them to get wind of this until after everything was done... If he finds out what's about to happen and tells somebody...”

She trailed off and started to plan around the problem, when she noticed the Junkers looking at each other. Junkrat noticed her gaze and turned towards her.

“So you need the one with the arm... what's his name?”

“Jesse McCree,” said Sombra.

“McCree, right. You need him out of the picture for the next 24 hours, right?” Junkrat had a very strange and wicked smile on his face.

Sombra nodded. Junkrat smiled wider and looked at Roadhog, who also nodded. 

“Right!” exclaimed Junkrat, standing up and quickly putting on a shirt, a hat, and a pair of glasses, all of which he pulled seemingly out of nowhere. “I'll take care of him.”

Then Sombra watched with shock and fear as Junkrat limped over to the bar and sat down right next to McCree. He ordered a drink and immediately started talking to the cowboy, but the bar was too loud for them to hear his conversation. Sombra saw that Junkrat was gesturing to his prosthetic arm, finding common ground.

“Is he... is he _flirting_ with him?” exclaimed Sombra, staring in disbelief as Junkrat ordered a second drink and gave it to McCree, scooting closer as he did so.

Roadhog chuckled and nodded.

Sombra watched in amazement for a few more minutes. McCree's body language changed and became more comfortable and relaxed, and he and Junkrat started putting away drinks as fast as the bartender could pour them out.

“I hope he knows what he's doing,” muttered Sombra, feeling a bit more relaxed herself. “Those Americans can drink all night, and I imagine it's hard to rob a bank when you're hungover.”

Roadhog didn't respond. He had pulled out a small bottle of black nail polish and was redoing his fingernails. 

After a moment, Sombra pulled her attention away from the bar and focused on the man in the mask. The paint brush looked tiny in his giant hand, but somehow he managed not to get a single drop of paint on his fingers. He finished a moment later and offered the bottle to Sombra.

“No thanks,” she said. “Black's not really my color.”

Roadhog wordlessly put away the black nail paint and pulled out a bottle of bright purple nail paint.

“Yeah, that'll do,” said Sombra, taking off her gloves and laying her hands flat on the table. Roadhog quickly wiped away the old nail polish and started to redo them with the vibrant purple paint.

“So... maybe you can help me,” she said after a few minutes of silence. Roadhog continued painting, so Sombra carried on. “Junkrat was right when he said that I wanted something other than cash. I want information.”

Roadhog looked up at her quizzically, and that look gave Sombra a bit of insight on how he somehow managed to communicate without speaking.

“After the explosion, a lot of communication points went dead,” explained Sombra. “Any information that came out of the Outback after that was analog, and I can't hack paper. There are very few things that I don't have access to, but Junkertown is one of them.”

Roadhog looked down and finished painting Sombra's nails. 

“I just want information about Junkertown,” said Sombra as she examined her immaculate nails.

“And about us?” asked Roadhog, putting the polish away. 

Sombra stared for a minute before nodding. “I know your names and that you're from Junkertown, and that's about it,” she said. “I'm not used to having that little information about somebody.”

Roadhog looked back at the bar, where Junkrat and McCree had an arm around each other, swaying and singing to the music. 

“I know you don't like to talk,” said Sombra, “but please, in exchange for everything I've told you tonight, tell me about yourself.”

Roadhog slowly turned to stare at her. He sat motionless for almost five solid minutes before giving a slow, single nod. Sombra breathed a small sigh of relief, the long silence having made her nervous.

“Okay, easy question first,” she started. “What's your real name?”

“Mako Rutledge.”

Sombra raised an eyebrow. “That doesn't sound like a very Australian name. Where are you originally from?”

“New Zealand.”

Sombra waited for him to elaborate, but he didn't. She got the feeling that if she pushed too hard, he would shut her out completely, so she moved on.

“What did you do before the Omnic Crisis?”

“I was a chemist,” he answered. 

Sombra hadn't expected that, but again she didn't pry. She could find out about that later, now that she had his full name. 

“And what happened after the Crisis?” she asked carefully.

“We were... displaced,” grumbled Roadhog. He paused for a moment. “That's why my team sabotaged the Omnium.” 

Sombra had known about the group that sabotaged the Omnium and was responsible for the irradiation of the Outback, but she hadn't known that Roadhog had been a part of it. 

“How does Junkertown play into this?” asked Sombra. 

“It came after,” replied Roadhog. “A place... for those who had lost everything.”

While Roadhog paused, Sombra glanced over at the bar again. The song had ended, and Junkrat and McCree were now sitting face to face on their bar stools, chatting animatedly. 

“So how does Junkrat play into this?” asked Sombra, turning back to Roadhog. “What's his deal?”

Roadhog looked over at Junkrat for a few seconds before turning back to Sombra. 

“Jamie... he was just a kid when it happened. He lost everything... his family, his future...”

“His name's Jamie?” asked Sombra quietly.

“Jamison Fawkes,” elaborated Roadhog. “He's a smart kid... Could have done great things.”

“What do you mean by that?” asked Sombra.

Roadhog shook his head. “The radiation... Junkers don't live that long...”

“Oh...” muttered Sombra. She glanced over at Junkrat, noticing under the lights of the bar what she hadn't noticed in the darkness. Even wearing a shirt, she could see how thin he was, and because the shirt had no sleeves, she could see the radiation burn scars stretching across his shoulders. She glanced at the glass that Junkrat had been drinking from and saw a bit of blood. “If... if he's dying from radiation poisoning, shouldn't being away from Junkertown help?”

“It does... a bit.”

Sombra bit her lip. “Y'know, I know somebody who might be able to help. She's a brilliant geneticist, so I'm sure she could come up with something.”

Roadhog remained silent, and in the quiet Sombra realized that she was getting far too invested in the Junkers' personal stories. She wanted information on Junkertown itself, so she refocused the conversation.

“What's life in Junkertown like?” asked Sombra. “Are there any rules? Is anybody in charge?”

“We have a Queen,” said Roadhog. “She's... complicated.”

“Is she a tyrant?”

“She's a bitch.”

“Oh.” Sombra was so stunned by Roadhog's sudden candor that she laughed. Roadhog chuckled a bit as well. 

“I'll ask more about her later,” said Sombra. “So... what do Junkers do on a daily basis? What's life like there?”

“People form packs for safety... they scrap, they steal, they salvage... whatever it takes to stay alive,” explained Roadhog. “The Queen lets people think there are no rules, but she has her own plans, and Enforcers to do her dirty work.”

“Were you an Enforcer?” asked Sombra. “Is that how you know all of this?”

Roadhog nodded.

“What kind of rules did you have to enforce?”

“She doesn't like it when people challenge her... she has her favorite Enforcers set up accidents. Silence people who oppose her... Luckily, she hated me. I never had to do her dirty work, I just stopped people from killing one another in the streets.”

“Why did she hate you?”

“Because I ruined our home. I planned the sabotage. She and her husband were part of the ALF, and he died in the blast. She blames me for everything.”

Sombra took a sip of her drink. “That's heavy, amigo.” 

Roadhog fell silent for a few minutes. Sombra let the silence continue until she sensed he was ready to talk again. She again focused on the normal life of the Junkers.

“What else happens there, in Junkertown?” Sombra asked. “What do people do for fun?”

“Eat, drink, and fight.”

“Like normal bar fights?”

Roadhog shook his head. “Mech fights.”

Sombra, who had taken a drink right at that moment, choked. 

“You have _mech_ fights?” she exclaimed through a cough. 

Roadhog made a small gesture that Sombra took to be a grimace.

“I hate them,” he said quietly. “Half the fighters are killed, and the other half are cheaters.”

Sombra noticed there was a bit more emotion in his voice. She was just about to ask when there was a disturbance at the bar.

There was a clatter of a stool falling over and the shattering of a glass, and McCree was suddenly standing with a gun pressed to Junkrat's chin. 

Roadhog was on his feet in an instant, hook in hand, when Junkrat and McCree started laughing. McCree put the gun away and picked up his stool before sitting back down. He and Junkrat kept talking, and the darkness of the corner prevented anybody from seeing Roadhog, who was still tense and ready to attack.

“Sit back down before you're seen,” hissed Sombra.

Roadhog slowly and reluctantly sat back down, not looking away from the bar. He picked up a spoon that was sitting on the table and broke it in half like a toothpick. 

“Sometimes I think he tries to get himself killed,” snarled Roadhog, throwing the halves of the spoon back down on the table.

Sombra stared at Roadhog. “You really care about him, don't you?”

Roadhog said nothing, so Sombra leaned forward, crossing her arms on the table. 

“When did you two start working together?” she asked.

“Few months ago.”

“Is that when you first met?”

Roadhog shook his head, no. 

“Well... when did you two first meet?” asked Sombra, leaning forward a bit more. She knew she was getting too focused on their personal stories again, but this time she didn't care. She was too curious.

Roadhog thought for a moment. “About eight years ago...” he muttered, still not taking his eyes off the bar. 

By now, the bar had gone a bit quieter as the lateness of the night crept in. The music was lowered just enough for Sombra to hear what Junkrat and McCree were talking about. It sounded like Junkrat was in the middle of a story.

“-so once I had the kid on my back, I started climbing out of the well. We were almost at the top when the snake appeared again! And this time... it got me. Before I could react, the beast sunk its fangs into my hand. I could feel its poison in my blood, and I knew that if I wanted to live, there was only one thing for it! So I climbed out of the well, handed the kid back to his mum, and then I took the rusty knife and the flamethrower from earlier and-”

His story faded as the music started up again. Roadhog must have heard the story too, because he looked a bit more relaxed now. 

“You know...” said Sombra, “when I asked him how he lost his arm, he told me he had been kidnapped and tortured for information that he didn't have, and that his kidnappers kept cutting off bits of his arm before he was able to escape.”

Roadhog laughed a bit. “That's a good one. My favorite is the one where the dingos attacked him while he was looking for food and tore his arm off.”

Sombra shook her head, already getting a much clearer picture of what the Junkers were truly like.

“He always tells the same story about how he blew his leg off trying to launch himself with a land mine,” observed Sombra, “but he keeps lying about his arm.”

Roadhog nodded. “He's embarrassed about how he lost it.”

“So you know how he really lost it?” asked Sombra. Roadhog nodded. 

Sombra gulped. “If you tell me that story, I'll consider the debt paid.”

Roadhog slowly tore his gaze from the bar and looked at Sombra. He considered for a minute before slowly nodding. He sat back, took a deep breath, and prepared himself for the most talking he'd had to do in years. 

“It happened eight years ago, on the day we met.”

**XXX**

Roadhog had been working on his bike all morning. It had been making a strange noise last night, and it took him several hours to find the broken cog. Knowing it would be too much hassle to make a new cog, he decided to go into town to buy one.

Picking up his gun and strapping on his hook, Roadhog slipped the broken cog into his pocket and set off for the gates of Junkertown, which were open and inviting today. 

Because people tended to jump out of his way when he walked, he didn't notice how thick the crowd was until he reached the heart of Junkertown, where even he had trouble moving. However, he managed to make it to Bruce's without much delay. Bruce was inside putting his tools away.

“Ah, Mako!” he exclaimed when he saw the imposing silhouette in the doorway. “Just in time. I was about to close up.”

“Why?” asked Roadhog, glancing outside at the sun. It was only late afternoon, too early for Bruce to close up shop.

Bruce laughed. “Mako, I know you like to mind your own business, but even you must have noticed everybody heading to the Scrap Yard!” 

“Oh, right,” he replied. That meant there was another mech fight happening today, and judging by the size of the crowd, it was going to be an intense one.

“Why don't you come with me,” suggested Bruce. “You need to socialize more. Then afterward we can come back here and fix whatever you've come to me to replace.”

Roadhog sighed before relenting and nodding. Bruce thanked him, and together they made their way to the Scrap Yard along with the crowd.

The show had already started by the time they found a place to stand near the railing. Looking down on the arena, they saw that two mechs had already been decimated in the earlier fights. Even though the mechs were a nothing more than steaming piles of scrap, Bruce seemed to know which was which.

“That one was Lockjaw, and that one there was the Scrapheap. Well, it certainly is one now... I wonder if the pilots made it.”

Somebody standing on the other side of Bruce leaned over and answered, telling him and Roadhog that the Scrapheap's pilot was fine, but Lockjaw's pilot, an older man named Flint, had died after being cut in half.

“Look, you can even see the blood trail from where they dragged the halves of his body off,” said the Junker, pointing across the arena.

“Oh dear!” exclaimed Bruce. “Who were they up against?”

Roadhog tuned out at this point. He had always hated the Scrap Yard and the mech fights. The senseless violence and waste of human life appalled him, as did the fact that the pilots were fighting not for a prize but for the honor of the Queen. 

Speaking of which...

Roadhog glanced up across the arena to the raised platform where the Queen herself sat, cloaked in shadows and watching the show with those piercing eyes. Roadhog often wondered if she forced the pilots to fight against their will. 

He kept an eye on her for the next few fights. There were several injuries, but no more fatalities. Another mech was completely totaled, a rusting heap of metal that was literally called the Trashcan. It had been crushed, and it took the pilot's prep team ten minutes to pull him out. 

With the lack of deaths, the crowd was beginning to grow restless. Another deathless fight passed before the Queen gave the signal that it was time for the final round to begin.

There was a screech of static as the announcer picked up her microphone. 

“And now, ladies and gents, the moment you've all been waiting for!” exclaimed the announcer to the cheers of the crowd. “In one corner we've got the reigning champ, the Destroyer!”

The crowd roared as the Destroyer strode out of the open doors and into the arena. Its pilot walked out alongside it, grinning and waving at the crowd. Roadhog knew that the Destroyer was one of the oldest mechs still in use, and that its pilot had never lost a fight. He was a crowd favorite. 

“And in the other corner,” continued the announcer, “is the challenger! He has risen through the ranks as fast as possible. Make way for the youngest pilot yet, and his mech, the Fireball!”

Roadhog leaned forward to get a better look at the kid who walked out alongside the bright orange mech. He stood straight and tall, walking steadily towards the center of the arena. Roadhog couldn't see his face clearly, but he noticed that the kid was shockingly pale for a Junker. 

“Oh, I know that kid,” muttered Bruce, who Roadhog had temporarily forgotten about. “He comes into the shop all the time. He's a gifted engineer, but he's far too young to be doing this...”

“How old is he?” asked Roadhog, feeling his stomach twist at the thought of a kid fighting a seasoned killing machine.

“He's seventeen,” said Bruce. “He calls himself Junkrat.”

Junkrat and his mech, the Fireball, reached the center of the arena. The pilots shook hands and entered their mechs, and then the battle began. 

Roadhog was on edge, his hands tightly gripping the rail. The whole time, he couldn't help but think how wrong this was, pitting a kid against the best mech fighter in Junkertown. He wondered why the Queen had allowed this.

Tearing his gaze from the battle below, Roadhog looked up at the Queen. She was sitting forward in her seat, watching intently. Roadhog had the sneaking suspicion that this fight was a setup, an excuse for her to get rid of the kid, although he couldn't imagine what this kid could have done to incur her wrath.

In the arena below, the fight continued. The Destroyer was lethal up close, but it was also heavy and slow. Junkrat's Fireball was flighty, quick and small. Roadhog could see that as long as the Fireball could move, it could evade the Destroyer's most dangerous weapons, and the kid could possibly win.

The Queen seemed to realize this too, however. Roadhog was the only one watching her, so he was the only one to see her press a few buttons on the arm of her throne. A few holes in the walls of the arena opened, and a handful of large bear traps tumbled out, falling upright and open on the ground behind the Fireball. 

The Destroyer's pilot saw the traps and shot forward, forcing the Fireball back, directly into the traps. The mech's left leg was immobilized, and in that short moment, the Destroyer pounced. It slammed against the Fireball, knocking it on its back. The Destroyer put its full weight on the Fireball's right side, crushing it and the weapons on the arm. Roadhog heard the kid inside the mech scream.

“That poor kid,” gasped Bruce. 

“Nobody is going to help him...” whispered Roadhog.

Time seemed to slow down. He took a deep breath and looked up at the Queen. There was a smile on her face. That's what gave Roadhog the push to do what he needed to do. 

Without stopping to think, Roadhog vaulted over the rail and into the arena. The Destroyer was standing above the Fireball, ready to go in for the kill.

An instant later, Roadhog's hook snagged the Destroyer and yanked it halfway across the arena, away from the kid and his mech, which was now on fire. The Destroyer stumbled and fell, bringing the pilot down to Roadhog's level.

_I don't even know his name_ , thought Roadhog as he put a bolt of scrap through the pilot's eye.

There was total silence. The pilot slumped over dead, and the Destroyer fell to the ground. Roadhog glanced at the Fireball and saw that the two mechanics who were part of the prep team were pulling the kid out of the wreckage. He was bloody and burnt, but Roadhog saw that his eyes were open, staring at the man in the mask who had saved his life. The mechanics dragged him out of the arena.

Roadhog allowed himself an internal sigh of relief. The newest target of the Queen's wrath had survived.

Slowly, Roadhog stepped away from the dead man in the mech and looked up. The Queen was on her feet, and the rage in her amber eyes seemed to make them glow in the dark. 

“Get out.” She spoke in a whisper that carried throughout the whole arena, maybe even the whole of Junkertown. 

Roadhog gave a small bow. Then he turned away from her and walked out. Out of the arena, and out of Junkertown, not stopping until he was sitting on his bed in his home, wondering how he would be punished. 

Bruce came to see him later that afternoon, telling him that the Queen had banned him from bringing weapons into Junkertown for the rest of his life.

“I'm surprised she didn't exile me,” grumbled Roadhog.

“Well, you _did_ put on a good show,” Bruce admitted before leaving. 

After that, Roadhog remained in solitude at home for three days. That third night, however, there was a frantic knock on his door. He opened it to find the two mechanics, struggling to support Junkrat between them.

“Will you help him?” asked the mechanic on the left.

“He's hurt, and no one else will help,” stammered the one on the right.

Roadhog stood and looked at the kid. He was barely conscious and shaking badly, and his face looked ashen. His right arm was covered in bloodstained bandages.

Roadhog only hesitated a moment before stepping forward and picking the kid up in his arms.

“Come back in the morning,” said Roadhog before kicking the door closed on the mechanics.

Although they had been told to leave, the two mechanics were worried about their friend. They waited just long enough to hear Junkrat scream before running back to town. 

**XXX**

The sudden breaking of glass snapped Roadhog and Sombra back to the present. Sombra shook her head, realizing she had been so entranced in the story that she hadn't noticed an entire hour had passed.

Looking around to see who had broken their glass, her eyes focused on the bar, and on McCree, who was slumped over with his head resting on the counter top, fast asleep. His glass had fallen out of his hand and onto the floor.

Junkrat stood next to him, patting his back and talking to the bartender.

“Poor fella couldn't keep up,” he slurred. “You'll make sure he gets home safe?”

The bartender nodded, and a minute later, Junkrat had made his way back over to the table in the corner.

“I can't believe it...” muttered Sombra. “You actually got him drunk enough to fall asleep.”

Junkrat chuckled drunkenly as he stumbled and fell, missing his chair and landing in Roadhog's lap. Neither of them seemed to mind. 

“Those Americans can... h-hold their booze,” Junkrat hiccuped. “Didn't wanna black out... stuck 'im with this.”

Junkrat clumsily dropped something on the table. Sombra picked it up to examine it and saw that it was a sleep dart.

“Where'd you get this?”

“Some bounty hunter tried to shoot me with it a while ago,” said Junkrat as he hiccuped between sentences. “Got stuck in the tire... I stuck the cowboy in the leg with it. P-passed right out. Should - _hic_ \- be hungover for the next three... three days.”

Roadhog tapped Junkrat on the shoulder to get his attention.

“Oh yeah!” exclaimed Junkrat. “Thanks for reminding me...” He stood from the table and limped towards the bathroom.

“Where are you going?” asked Sombra.

“Gotta boot!” exclaimed Junkrat over his shoulder. “Get the poison out.”

The bathroom door closed. Luckily, the music was too loud to hear the sound of Junkrat retching. Sombra turned back to Roadhog.

“So... you cut his arm off?” she asked, referring to the story.

Roadhog nodded. “It was... badly damaged.”

“And his leg, did he really blow it off with a mine?”

Roadhog nodded again.

“How long ago did that happen?”

“A year ago,” mumbled Roadhog, who was now looking very tired of talking. Luckily, he was spared by Junkrat's return to the table.

“Anybody got a mint?” asked Junkrat as he leaned tiredly against Roadhog's shoulder. Roadhog pulled a bag of mints out of nowhere and handed one to Junkrat, who stuck it in his mouth and bit it in half.

“Are you sure you're going to be able to do your heist tomorrow?” asked Sombra quietly as she tried to assess just how hungover Junkrat would be. 

Junkrat snorted. “Please, if I let something like extreme pain and constant nausea stop me, I'd never get anything done, now would I?”

“You experience that often?”

“Duh!” exclaimed Junkrat. “Look at me, do... do I look healthy to you?”

Roadhog tapped him on the shoulder, and Junkrat turned to look at him.

“What? Yeah, of course I'll be fine...” Junkrat grumbled, although he looked like he wanted to vomit again.

“You!” he suddenly exclaimed, turning back on Sombra with a pointed finger. “You... wanted a favor? Well I just... just took care of the... uh... the hat guy for ya. We're even.”

Much to Junkrat's surprise, Sombra nodded. 

“Yes, we're even.” She stood up from the table. “Good night boys. Hopefully I won't see you tomorrow.” Then she walked out the door.

Junkrat turned to look at Roadhog, who just shrugged.

**XXX**

Half an hour later, Junkrat and Roadhog returned to the room where they were staying. It was directly above Calaveras, so they could still faintly hear the music and talking downstairs.

Without even bothering to change clothes, Junkrat collapsed face down on the bed and fell asleep in an instant. Roadhog sighed a bit and shook his head before going about his nightly routine.

While Junkrat slept, Roadhog went into the bathroom and took off his mask to wash his face and brush his teeth. He debated showering before deciding against it, not wanting to leave Junkrat alone for too long. After he finished flossing, he put his mask back on and changed out of his dirty clothes and into something more comfortable to sleep in.

After taking a moment to wash his hands and brush his hair, he turned to Junkrat, who was still lying face down on the bed. As gently as he could, Roadhog moved Junkrat onto his back and carefully removed his prosthetic arm and leg. After that, he examined the ends of the amputated limbs. Junkrat's arm looked fine, as it had been eight years since he lost it, but the remainder of his right thigh was swollen and red and hot to the touch, and a bit of blood had stained the bandages that were always wrapped around it.

Roadhog sighed and pulled out an ice pack, gently pressing it against the stump. Junkrat grimaced but didn't wake up.

Although it had been almost a year since Junkrat had lost his leg, the wound still hadn't fully healed. This was because of several things. First, he never took proper care of his prosthesis, so the leg didn't fit properly. If Junkrat stumbled – which he did often – then the peg leg would irritate the wound. It didn't help that Junkrat didn't give it time to heal before insisting he needed to walk. He had barely given it a month before he was tired of his crutches and started building himself a new leg.

Roadhog also knew that the radiation was responsible. Between the radiation and the albinism he also suffered from, he recovered from wounds and sickness far slower than the average person would. This had been a big stress factor for Roadhog, who had started to threaten people who even sneezed in Junkrat's direction. 

Roadhog shifted the ice pack a bit and continued to think. Another reason the wound hadn't healed was because Junkrat simply didn't care enough to be worried about it. He made it clear to Roadhog that he wasn't worried about the long term consequences, because he knew there would be none. 

Roadhog sighed and shook his head, removing the ice pack and re-bandaging the raw stump of a leg. The he carefully undressed Junkrat and put him in more comfortable clothes to sleep in, folding the dirty clothes and putting them neatly with his. He debated moving Junkrat onto his side in case he threw up again, but he decided that he should leave him on his back. Not only did Junkrat have severe chronic pain in his arm and leg, his lower back also gave him extreme pain, and they found that sleeping on his back made it hurt less in the morning. 

Satisfied that Junkrat had been taken care of, Roadhog made sure the door was locked before turning out the lights and lying down next to him, curled up on his side so he could breathe easier. He was a light sleeper, so he trusted that he would hear if Junkrat started choking. 

However, as Roadhog lay in bed with an arm thrown over Junkrat, he couldn't fall asleep. Memories of the night he had been telling Sombra about started to flash behind his eyes. Sighing and knowing he wouldn't be able to fall asleep for a while, he closed his eyes and let the memory wash over him.

**XXX**

“Come back in the morning,” Roadhog said before kicking the door closed on the mechanics. He then turned and carried the kid over to his work table and gently laid him down before unraveling the bandages to get a better look at the injury.

He saw immediately that Junkrat's arm had been crushed; it must have happened at the end of the fight when the Destroyer flattened the right half of the Fireball. Most of the bones in Junkrat's lower right arm and hand were broken, several of them compound so the bone was poking through the skin. His arm was a blackish purple color, and through his mask, Roadhog caught a whiff of a rotting smell that indicated the arm had become gangrenous. He also noticed red streaks running up the kid's arm – a telltale sign of blood poisoning. He was also running a very high fever.

Roadhog gave a tired sigh and got to work. He tied a tourniquet around the kid's arm to slow the blood flow, and he carefully cleaned the area where he would make the cut. It would be below the elbow, even though the blood poisoning streaks had reached nearly up to his shoulder. Roadhog could cure the blood poisoning, but he couldn't cure the gangrene. 

He lit a fire and set his machete in it to disinfect, and while he waited he laid down a towel and prepared his first aid kit, including bandages and a threaded needle, along with a syringe of his own homemade medicine to treat the infection. He didn't have any painkillers, so he used an old belt to strap Junkrat's good arm to the table. 

Everything was ready. Roadhog removed his machete from the fire and moved Junkrat's arm into a position that was easiest to work with. He planned carefully – he would need to make two clean and accurate cuts to remove the arm and infected flesh while still leaving enough skin to stitch the wound up. 

Roadhog shook his head, thinking about how much easier this would be if he had morphine and a bone saw. Then he raised his machete and got on with it.

The kid woke up screaming and thrashing after the first cut. Roadhog held his arm still and made his second cut, fully severing the arm. It didn't bleed much thanks to the tourniquet, but the kid was violently shaking and gasping, trying to understand what was happening. Roadhog had the feeling he was slightly delirious from the pain and the fever. When Roadhog threw the severed arm into the fire, the kid passed out again. 

Taking advantage of the fact that the kid was holding still, Roadhog picked up the needle and sewed the wound closed. His measurements had been good – there was just enough skin left to cover the bone and flesh without it being too tight. After that, he tightly bandaged the stump and injected the medicine into Junkrat's arm before removing the tourniquet. The medicine worked extremely fast, and after fifteen minutes Roadhog could see the blood poisoning streaks fading. The kid's fever was still high, and he was white and shaking, but that would pass. 

Relieved that the hard part was over, Roadhog picked up the kid and brought him over to his bed, laying him down and gently throwing a thin blanket over him. The temperature outside was dropping rapidly as the night settled in, but the fire still burning in the corner kept the place warm. Roadhog glanced at the fire and saw that the arm had been reduced to bones already. 

Just as Roadhog pulled up a chair and sat down, the kid suddenly gasped and opened his eyes, looking around frantically. He tried to sit up, but Roadhog put a big hand on his chest and gently held him down.

“Don't hurt yourself,” grumbled Roadhog.

The kid was still breathing hard, but he had stopped struggling.

“You...” he stammered, staring at Roadhog. “You're... you're the one who... who saved me...”

Roadhog nodded. In the dim light, he noticed with a shock that the kid had the same amber eyes as the Queen, which seemed to glow in the dark. 

“I'm Junkrat,” said the kid, holding out his arm to shake hands. However, he held out his right arm. He stopped and stared at the bandaged stump for a moment before slowly lowering his arm.

“Should have expected that...” Junkrat muttered sadly, laying back against the pillows and covering his amputated arm with the blanket. He seemed to be calming down, despite knowing that his hand and half of his arm was now gone. “It turned black and started stinkin' yesterday. Knew it was bad when I saw it stop bleeding. Probably should have done something about it yesterday, but then the fever got worse and I got too dizzy to stand...”

Junkrat sighed a bit before looking up at Roadhog. “I never asked your name.”

“It's Roadhog.”

Junkrat smiled a bit. “Oh, I've heard about you. The Queen hates ya, doesn't she?”

Roadhog nodded, and Junkrat cackled loudly. 

“She hates me too,” he chuckled. “That's why she let me fight the champ today. Hoped he'd kill me.”

“Why does she want to kill you?” asked Roadhog.

Junkrat's smile faltered. “Not really sure... Maybe I cause too much trouble. I like blowing stuff up,” he said with a shrug. 

Roadhog shook his head a bit. Something simple like a bit of pyromania wouldn't be enough to bring the wrath of the Queen down upon this kid. Something else must have happened, but obviously Junkrat didn't know what he had done to anger the Queen. 

“So what's your real name?” Junkrat asked suddenly, staring right past Roadhog's mask with those unnerving glowing eyes. 

“Huh?”

“Your real name,” repeated Junkrat. “I'm Jamison Fawkes, if you wanted to know.”

Roadhog gave a small start. “Fawkes?”

“Yeah. What about it?”

Roadhog shook his head. He had heard that name before, but he couldn't place it. 

“Well, I just figured-” Junkrat started to say something, but he must have forgotten that he was injured and sick, because he tried to sit up and instantly collapsed back onto the pillows, gasping and shaking. 

“Take it easy,” said Roadhog, carefully handing him a glass of water. 

“Thanks...” muttered Junkrat, suddenly looking exhausted.

A few minutes of quiet followed while Junkrat sipped the water and tried to catch his breath and stop the room from spinning. Then he spoke so suddenly that it made Roadhog jump.

“Mako!” he exclaimed. “Your name is Mako.”

Roadhog stared at him. “How did you...”

“I remember Bruce mentioned you once or twice...” mumbled Junkrat, all the energy having left him now. “He's nice... gave me tips on building mechs. Not that I'll ever be able to use one again.”

Junkrat grimaced and clutched his arm. “It's really starting to hurt now...” he muttered through clenched teeth.

Roadhog stood and went over to one of his cabinets where he rummaged for a bit before finding an old, small bottle of bourbon. He poured some in a cup and handed it to Junkrat, who drained it without question.

“Thank you for helping me...” Junkrat mumbled before instantly falling asleep. 

Roadhog sat for a moment, thinking. Then he stood, cleaned up a bit more, locked the door and turned off the lights, and returned to his chair, ready to wait out the night. 

**XXX**

By the time the memory ended, Roadhog had drifted off to sleep. He was woken up a bit later by Junkrat, who suddenly bolted awake and sat upright, looking around frantically and breathing hard. Even now, the nights were still rough, but now it was his leg that often woke him up. 

Barely opening his eyes, Roadhog reached over and threw an arm around Junkrat, pulling him close and forcing him to lay down. Junkrat took a deep breath and relaxed again, and within minutes they were both asleep, dreaming of mountains of gold.

**Author's Note:**

> This was pretty fun to write, but I didn't have time to edit and proof read as much as I wanted because I'm going on vacation and wanted to get this up before I left. Enjoy, and I might come back to edit this in like ten days.


End file.
